


Five Times Sherlock Ruined John's Christmas, and One Time He Didn't

by DaisyFairy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Arguing, Christmas, Happy, Kissing, M/M, Mistletoe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 05:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16968534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyFairy/pseuds/DaisyFairy
Summary: It is the first Christmas since John moved in to 221B with Sherlock. He wants to celebrate the season, but will it be easy while living with a scrooge like detective?





	Five Times Sherlock Ruined John's Christmas, and One Time He Didn't

**Author's Note:**

> As with my other Christmas fic this year, this was written over the summer and saved for the festive period.

1\. John had been living at 221b for almost a year when the Christmas season rolled around.

It was one evening in mid-November when he received an email from Bill Murray suggesting that he met up with some of his army mates for a Christmas drink. He smiled to himself as he replied eagerly, he hadn’t seen the gang for a while, it would be great to catch up, and going out around Christmas just always somehow felt more special. He was excited that this would be different to last Christmas when he saw them. Back then he had been on his own in a bedsit, every day the same as the last, and it had been a struggle to find things to talk about. 

This time he actually had someone in his life he could talk about, he could tell them all about life with the famous detective. How amazing he was and maybe that story about when Sherlock set his bed on fire and they had to share John’s bed for the night….OK, that could lead the discussion in directions he wasn’t allowing himself to think of, maybe angle it more towards the cases. Still, it would be a great night. 

On the first of December John was just about to leave to catch the tube for his evening out when there was a huge crash from Sherlock's room and he burst out with a gash on his forehead and blood dripping down his face. John sighed and sent off a quick text telling Bill he wouldn't make it, then set about patching the lunatic up and monitoring him all evening for concussion. He tried to tell himself that he could always see them another time, but it just wouldn't be the same.

****

2\. The following week John picked up some mince pies while he was in Tesco. He thought nostalgically of standing on a chair in his gran's kitchen helping her mix up the raisins and spices for her homemade mince pies. He was looking forward to enjoying one that evening with a nice cup of tea. 

John's mistake was to leave his treat unattended when he got home while he went for a shower. Unknown to him the pies had fallen foul of one of Sherlock’s experiments and the resulting night of vomiting and stomach cramps left him unable to even think about looking at another mince pie for the foreseeable future. 

Sherlock’s assertion that he thought the pies had been bought for experimentation because surely no-one actually likes eating them earned him a very firm glare and having to make his own tea for two weeks.

****

3\. It was half way through the Great Baker Street Tea Moratorium that John bought a Christmas jumper on his way home from work. It was a ridiculous thing, a large fluffy polar bear on the front wearing a Santa hat with a bell at the top that would jingle with every movement. 

He thought that he would wear it at the surgery the week before Christmas and smiled as he anticipated it. They would have Christmas music in reception, probably cakes or chocolates in the break room (or mince pies that no one has tampered with, maybe he could stomach it if he knew Sherlock hadn’t been near them), and his cheery jumper was bound to get a smile out of some of the kids who would come in with the inevitable winter sniffles. Having learned a lesson with the mince pies he actually put the jumper away, in his room, in a drawer, but after a trip to buy milk he returned to the smell of burning fabric and the tattered remains of his purchase. 

"This," Sherlock indicated the smoldering knitwear "is an affront to good taste and Had to be destroyed. Surely you don’t want to go around dressed up like some reject from Santa’s grotto?"

John clenched his fist and frowned, "You're not even going to pretend it was an experiment then?"

"No John, it was a mercy killing. It was too hideous to live."

"You are the most.. most...uh!" John ground his teeth and marched up to his room before he did something that Sherlock would regret, like maybe a swift punch on the nose. He would have extended the tea embargo, but the tiny flicker of hope caused by the fact that at least Sherlock noticed and cared what he looked like softened his resolve.

****

4\. One of the other things John loved to do in the run up to Christmas was to watch a Christmas film. He really wasn’t that fussy which, just something to get him in the mood. 

It could be a classic like ‘It’s a Wonderful Life', a comedy like ‘Elf', or one of the many versions of ‘Scrooge'. Just anything Christmas themed and it would make his whole mood turn festive. He tried, lots of times in the run up to Christmas, but every time, for one reason or another, he was thwarted before he even got half way through.

On one occasion Sherlock made him turn the film off so that they could chase a murderer through Richmond Park. Whilst that wasn’t festive, John couldn’t deny that running around with his mad detective was the most fun he could imagine having, so Sherlock was swiftly forgiven.

The films ruined by noxious fumes filling the flat, an emergency commandeering of the TV to watch security footage (which John later discovered was to see how often Mycroft visited the bakery), and Sherlock just plain moaning about the plotline until John gave up. Those were less easily forgiven. But then Sherlock would do something sweet like help a little old lady with a case for half price (he said it was because it was interesting, nothing to do with her struggling to pay her bills); or he would give John that smile, the one that seemed to just be reserved for him, and John’s heart would betray him and forget all about what an annoying git the man could be.

****

5\. It was only a few days before Christmas when John got around to buying some decorations for the flat. A few fairy lights for the mantle piece, a bit of tinsel to put around the cow skull and a real tree. 

Sherlock was busy looking though a stack of old train timetables when John got home so he quietly left his purchases in the corner of room. Sherlock still hadn’t emerged from his research bubble by the time John went to bed so he decided to go out in the morning to buy baubles and other decorations for the tree and then set everything up in the afternoon, decorating around the heaps of paperwork with Sherlock in the middle if necessary. 

When John came down from his room in the morning it was all gone. 

"Where are the decorations?" He asked, in the vain hope he would get a sensible answer.

"Gone. I put them out with the bins and I believe the dustmen came half an hour ago to empty them."

John went red with anger "Why?! Why would you do that? You know I just bought them."

“We do not require decorations or any of the other nonsense associated with Christmas. Neither of us are religious so why should we clutter our living space with useless ephemera?”

"They were mine Sherlock. You have no right to do that, I can't believe you sometimes." John said in a low dangerous tone of voice. "And who the hell are you to talk about clutter, have you seen this place?"

"This is all highly important for my work. Those things were mere shiny baubles designed to captivate the attention of those too feeble minded to be above such things.”

John exploded, he could probably be heard out on the street below when he shouted “Well I guess that's me then, feeble minded. You want to know why? Do you? If I'm not religious why I would want to celebrate Christmas? Maybe its because Christmas was the one time when my parents would at least pretend to be happy, maybe it’s because if my dad was drunk I could convince myself that it was normal because everyone gets drunk at Christmas. 

Maybe it’s because after Harry came out it was pretty much the only day when she would have a truce with my parents and stop arguing about it. Or maybe it's because when I was on deployment it was one of the bright points, with a Christmas meal and parcels from home. 

Maybe its because I like the shiny baubles and stupid music and ridiculous clothes and the food and giving presents to people I care about. But you just don't care about any of that do you? You don't care about what it means to me, what I want, you don't care about.." Me. 

He managed to snap his mouth shut before that last word of his rant could escape, the word that was the real root of the problem. Sherlock didn’t care about him, and that was what hurt most, not the stuff, not Christmas, but that Sherlock, the most important person in his life, didn’t care about hurting him or what he wanted. He stomped up stairs and came down with a bag. "I'm going out, don't expect me back tonight." He stormed out slamming the door behind him.

John spent the following morning sitting mournfully in Greg’s kitchen while Greg tried to persuade him to go home. Greg's reassurance that Sherlock was just as dismissive of everyone's feelings did very little to help.

John didn’t want to be everyone else, he wanted to be an exception. He wanted Sherlock to care about him as much as he cared about the mad genius. John cared about Sherlock enough to put up with experiments in the kitchen, body parts in the fridge, and violin playing all night with, ok, maybe a little complaint but nothing on the scale of Sherlock's complete destruction of John's Christmas. In the end John agreed to go back home purely because he knew it had to be done sometime and sitting around putting off the inevitable was doing him no good. 

******

+1. It was afternoon by the time John returned up the stairs to the flat. He opened the door and froze in surprise. There were paper chains cross-crossing the ceiling, and figurines of Santa, snowmen and reindeer on the mantelpiece. 

There was a tree in the corner…well, John assumed there was a tree under there somewhere, but it was so laden down with decorations that not even a single needle could be seen. There was tinsel and ribbons, lights and baubles, a star AND an angel on top. Bells and bows covered the whole thing, and there was a mountain of brightly wrapped gifts heaped underneath.  
Slade's ‘I Wish it Could be Christmas Everyday' was playing quietly in the background and the smell of spices wafting from the kitchen caught his attention. It was when he turned to see where it was coming from that his mouth dropped open in shock. 

There was Sherlock taking freshly made mince pies out of the oven, wearing a bright red apron decorated like a Santa suit, and oven gloves that looked like snowmen….with antlers covered in tiny golden bells jangling on top of his head, a green woolly jumper under the apron that had large glittery snowflakes sewed to it, red fleecy trousers covered in robins and large pointy plush slippers with bells on the toes like elf shoes.

A jumper that looked like it matched Sherlock’s, but in red, was draped over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. The kitchen was decorated just as much as the rest of the flat, it looked like an explosion in a tinsel factory. Every cupboard had the stuff bordering it's door, and more fairy lights twinkled in the kitchen window.

“Do you like what I did with the place John?”

John chuckled, “Yes, it’s hideous.”

“It is, isn’t it.” Sherlock smirked looking horribly pleased with himself.

John just spun around trying to take it all in, he felt like he was five years old visiting Santa’s grotto and totally overwhelmed by the experience.

“John?” Sherlock called quietly to drag his attention back, “You were wrong, I do care about you.”

“Git,” John muttered, “I know I didn’t actually say that word.”

“Really? You didn’t think I could fill in the blanks?”

“I doubted that you would bother.”

“I will always bother when it comes to you. Haven’t you realised by now that I will always pay attention to you.”

“Except when you don’t notice if I’m here or not.”

“But you are always here, just sometimes the you that is here is the you inside my head. I admit that does cause confusion sometimes. Maybe I should make him wear a bowtie or something so I can tell you apart.”

John grinned and giggled, “I don’t even want to know if that’s true.” He took a step closer.

Sherlock mirrored him and took a step towards the kitchen doorway, towards John, “I thought you were just doing Christmas out of a misplaced sense of tradition, if I’d realised it went deeper than that I never would have stopped you.”

“Thank you.” John said, and warmth bloomed inside at the confirmation that Sherlock really did think that he was important.

“There’s one decoration I don’t think you've noticed yet.”

“There’s probably a hundred I haven’t noticed. What did you do, buy up the entire Tesco Christmas department?”

“There is one in particular that I mean right now.” Sherlock said taking another step towards John and looking pointedly up at the door frame.

There, right in the centre, nestled between two strands of shiny red tinsel, attached to the wood by a golden thumb tack, was a small sprig of mistletoe. John swallowed thickly staring at it for a second and then tilted his head down a fraction to find that Sherlock had moved even closer, only a few centimeters away, the golden bells of his antlers chiming softly with every move of his head.

“So John, what do you think?”

John's mind was blank, no words would come to his lips at all, so he did the only thing he could think to do, which was to grab the front of Sherlock’s apron and pull him in for a passionate kiss.

 

Half an hour later Sherlock’s apron, jumper, trousers and slippers were scattered across the living room floor, along with John’s rather less festive shirt, trousers and shoes. As for the two inhabitants of 221b, nothing could be seen of them other than some rather frantic looking rustling movements under a large pile of tinsel in the middle of the lounge floor, accompanied by a cacophonous jingling and jangling of bells and some rather unChristmaslike moaning.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this. Please don't be shy about leaving kudos or comments :-)
> 
> I can be found on Pillowfort as Daisyfairy, and Tumblr as DaisyFairy1 (but possibly only until Monday if Tumblr decide to delete me in their Tumblrocalypse).


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